


John’s Daughter

by reigningqueenofwords



Series: October 2001 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 05:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19660813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reigningqueenofwords/pseuds/reigningqueenofwords





	John’s Daughter

Two boys- Sam, and Dean. His whole world after Mary had died. He did everything he could do to protect them, and make sure they learned what they had to do survive. While he focused on them, and tracking what killed Mary, John Winchester was no monk. He’d had his share of women warming his beds over the years. So, of course, he’d always been smart.

So he thought.

The first time he found out any differently was in October 2001. He received a phone call from a woman he hadn’t spoken to in years, which shocked him. While she didn’t say what was so important, she insisted that he come see her.

He’d agreed. Sam was off at school, and he was trusting Dean more and more on his own. So, he packed up his truck, and took off. All he’d told Dean was that he’d check in when he got there. Nothing more.

* * *

His knuckles tapped on the front door at five one evening. “Who is it?” You asked from the other side of the door.

“My name’s John. John Winchester. Is your mother home?”

Seconds ticked by before he heard the chain being removed from the door, the bolt undone, and the door unlocked. You cracked it, looking up at John. “I’m Y/N.” you said quietly. “Mom told me you were coming.” Slowly, the door opened, letting him in. “She’s at work. She won’t be home for a bit. I was just making dinner. Are you hungry?” You asked, securing the door behind him.

“How old are you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t seem to be old enough to be home alone.”

You shrugged. “I’m used to it. I’m eleven, though.”

While the two of you ate in silence, you worked on your homework. John watched you, your tongue sticking out to the side a tiny bit as you worked on your math. He chuckled, shaking his head. Your mother did the same thing.

Around nine, you fell asleep watching cartoons on the couch. You knew who John was- your father. It had taken forever for your mother to finally contact him for you. You loved your mother, you really did, but the year before there was a daddy/daughter dance night, and that really got to you.

John left the same channel playing, not wanting to risk waking you up. Ten rolled around and your mother came through the back door. He quietly got up and went to meet her. “Y/M/N.” He said quietly.

She paused what she was doing and looked over at him. “Hello, John.”

“What was so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”

“She’s your daughter.” She explained. John stared at her like she was insane.

* * *

“ _Daddy_!” You whined, stomping your foot. “I don’t want you to go! It’s not fair.” Your eyes watered as you pouted, giving him the best puppy eyes you could manage. “I only get you a couple times a year.”

John groaned. “I know, I know.” He sighed. “How about I stay one more night?” At thirteen, you had him wrapped around your polished finger. The last couple visits had been dad hell. And that was for a father who had helped raise his daughter. Not one that only showed up when he could!

You had first needed training bras. Somehow, he got conned into that. Thankfully, you had been just as weird about it. He would shop in the store right next to the one you would wander into it. He kept you close, but didn’t have to deal with…that. You had been twelve. Your mother had found it hysterical when you’d gotten excited at dinner that night. He’d turned every shade of red possible.

Next, it was acne face wash. There was not a single pimple on your face, yet you’d insisted. All your friends had started using it, so you had to have it. No amount of conversation was able to detour you from that. That wasn’t too bad, it was the standing in the isle trying to help you compare which brand did what.

Then there was this visit. Your mother had to take a business trip for the first couple days. Some nurses thing. Having little time to really look into raising a daughter, he was guessing at basically everything. So, when on the second day, you heard you scream from the upstairs bathroom, his mind went into panic mode. He’d run up the stairs two at a time, and banged on the bathroom door. “Baby girl?” He yelled, scared you were hurt.

“Ruined!” You sobbed. “My favorite jeans are _ruined_!”

“What?” He asked, staring at the door, confused.

You sniffled before cracking the door, hiding behind it. “I started my…period.” You whispered that, knowing that your best friend’s father had nearly passed out when she started. “I got blood on my favorite jeans. They’re ruined!”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Get them soaking in hot water, I can get the blood out later.”

“Uh, there’s more.” You gave him the ‘sorry’ face. “I kinda need you to go to the store for me.”

“Ice cream? Twizzlers?” He asked, knowing that was normally your go-to feel good food.

You stared at him. “Pads, dad. I need _pads_.” You groaned, resting your head on the door frame.

* * *

John came out from the back, duffle bag in hand. “Alright, I’ll see you again as soon as I can.” He kissed your temple gently.

You looked up at him. “You sure you can’t stay for the weekend?” You asked, a small smile on your face. It was the first football game of the season, and you were a cheerleader. He’d caught the last year’s first game, so you hoped you’d win this, too.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Every time he walked out that door, it killed him. He missed so much, but he was on a mission.

Hearing the rumble of a motorcycle, you jumped up, a huge grin on your face. “Mom! Chase is here!” You called out. Just like that, your mood had improved.

“ _Chase_?” John damn near growled.

Your mother came walking out of the kitchen, drying her hands. “Y/N’s boyfriend. I’m sure she’s mentioned him.” Her eyes were on you. “Ah, young love.”

He shook his head. “Love? She’s _sixteen_!”

“Stop it, Daddy!” You snapped, opening the door when Chase knocked. Standing there on the front porch, was Chase. That sweet smile that was often overlooked because of what he drove, and how he dressed. “Chase, this is my father, John.” Chase’s arm was around your shoulders, yours around his waist.

Chase smiled and held out his hand. “Sir.”

John glared at him. “You drive a motorcycle?”

You groaned. "Don’t start, please.“

“It’s fine.” Chase chuckled. “Yeah, it belonged to my old man.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m nineteen.” He said simply.

The rest of the night was spent much like that. Nothing you said was making it so you could get out of that damn door. You were sure that your dad would have thought it was great if he wasn’t your boyfriend.

* * *

Pacing your old home, you chewed on your cheek. “Come on, Dad. Pick up!” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Hello?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, not knowing that voice. “Can I speak to John, please?”

“What do you need?”

“I need to talk to John!” You snapped.

There was a low growl on the other end. “John’s dead. Who’s this?”

Your eyes watered. “I’m his daughter.”


End file.
